Life From a New Perspective
by MonsterMind
Summary: Jake Martin has finally met his match. But who knew it'd be the girl in cat ears?
1. Chapter 1

_[A/N: This is obviously a rather AU plot with a complete crackship. But I thought I'd give 'Jimogen' a run. The chapter will break into a different point of view and the name will be bolded to decipher who's point of view it is, either Jake's or Imogen's. But I hope you enjoy if you do take the time to read!]_

**Jake Martin** had found himself at the same spot he always was every morning at promptly 7:50. With ten minutes until the first class of the day and feeling worn down from the night of renovation with his dad, the boy moved around the scattered books in his locker, attempting to find his English notebook in the clutter. An unknown sneer appeared on his face as he retracted, his hands placing themselves on his head as he stared into the locker with dismay.

"Hey," A soft voice said from beside him. His green eyes averted towards the owner of the voice and if he hadn't been tainted with manners, he would have rolled his eyes and groaned. The last thing he needed was a bit of ex-girlfriend drama to start off his day, but that's what was being dished out. He kept his cool though, his hands falling from his caramel hair to his sides quickly.

"Hi you," Jake spoke up ever so nonchalantly, his eyes moving away from the small girl beside him to the abyss known as his locker. He wasn't sure why Clare Edwards was bothering him so early in the morning. He had made it clear when they broke up that, yes, they'd be civil. But that was for the sake of their parents. He, by no means, wanted to be her friend. He explained to her that it meant potential drama, but in reality, Jake just didn't want to see her happy now that she was back with a fully medicated Eli. Occasionally, he'd see the two of them hand in hand in the hallways, stealing kisses from one another when they were sure no teachers were stalking around. And the smile on her face with Eli was always more genuine than any of the ones she had shared with Jake. He pushed the thought from his head, though, upon realizing that the girl hadn't said word after their short greeting and was just staring at him. Hand in locker and a furrowed brow, he looked down at her, "Need something, Edwards?"

"What? No." Clare stumbled over her words as she tore her gaze away from him and pulled her bag closer to her, searching for something. He gave a light half smile, rolling his eyes. She always had a tendency to make situations that much more awkward; she was the kind of girl to wear her heart on her sleeve. He was the complete opposite of that, but he admired the people were boldly able to put themselves out there, with the chance that their emotions could be ridiculed. She pulled a familiar notebook and a brown paper bag out of her purse, her eyes meeting his again and raised his eyebrows almost sarcastically, as if he was bored with the situation. He could tell she had sensed it, because with a light eyeroll, she pushed the notebook and bag forward. "Here. You left this at my house after church with our parents. And my mom wanted me to give you this. She says growing boys need home-cooked meals every once in a while."

Tentatively, Jake took the notebook and bag from her grip. The black composition book had the word 'English' scribbled in his chicken scratch cross it and the bag seemed heavy with food. A smile appeared on his face; so Clare Edwards could come with good after all. He looked down at her, "Tell your mom I said thanks. And uh, a special thanks to you for bringing this back to me." He turned the notebook in his hands, grinning a bit before placing the lunch into his locker.

"No problem," Clare grumbled as he slammed his locker door shut. Before he had a chance to say anything else and without a goodbye or 'have a nice day,' the girl in the purple polo turned on her heel and walked down the hallway. Jake watched for a brief moment before shaking his head. His thoughts were consuming him, bitter, negative ones at that. He wasn't sure how he had taken his first weeks at Degrassi and already made it a mess with relationship drama. He should have known the minute he saw the change of long hair to small curls and no glasses, that Clare Edwards had changed. She was no longer the quiet girl who read her books in the shade at the cottage; she had drama all over her.

With a curt sigh, Jake turned around, ready to head off to his English class and the joys of the Scarlet Letter. But in his swift moment, he immediately bumped harshly into someone, sending his notebook and their notebook flying to ground as the person nearly fell back. Without even a moment of thought, Jake reached out and grabbed a flailing hand, catching the stranger swiftly. His eyes fell down to her brown ones hidden behind a frame and he realized this was no stranger at all. Pulling her up, he gave a polite smile, "Sorry, Imogen. I didn't see you there."

"No problem, not many people do." The small girl in pigtails shrugged, readjusting her glasses with the hand that wasn't still in Jake's. His eyebrows pulled together as he stared at her. He had spent a good week working on a disastrous play with her and had heard plenty of comments fall from her mouth that had made him shift under the heavy weight of uncomfortable tension. But he could never get over how she so freely allowed herself to shine a light to the awkward things in the room. This moment was no different.

He retracted his hand quickly, huffing slightly as he leaned down and picked up their notebooks. Jake Martin wasn't the type to look past the ladies though. If he had learned one thing in his time up by the lake, it was that every girl had their special perk. And as his eyes trailed up while he stood up, he noticed the simple curve and nice tan of Imogen's seemingly smooth legs. He smirked a bit to himself as he handed the pink notebook back to her, raising his eyebrows, "Right. Well, I have to head to class. It was nice bumping into you. Literally."

He was just about to turn when Imogen's next few words stopped him in his tracks. "English, yeah. Should be a fun quiz on the chapters we were supposed to read." His eyes moved back to hers and a million thoughts ran through his head. Most prominently, it was that he wasn't aware there was a quiz and he hadn't read any new chapters of the book. But he remained calm about his probably plummeting grade as he stared down at the girl before him, looking ever so innocently back.

"How did you know my next class was English?" He questioned without much thought to her words. If he was thinking straight, he would have picked up on the pronoun 'we,' and would have been able to put two and two together. But in the moment, he was just confused and a little put off by her knowledge of his schedule.

There was a pause between them as the girl studied his face for a moment. He felt like he was being put under a microscope when all he wanted was a simple answer. "We have it together. We've had English together all semester," Imogen spoke with a light sneer in her tone, the explanation sounding like bombs against battlefield to him. His face softened when he realized that she was in no wrong; he'd just automatically jumped to the worst idea of her. Shrinking back a bit and squaring his shoulders, he cleared his throat.

"I didn't know that we had a class together," He stuttered a bit, unsure of what to say. He felt like a jerk. And though he had the tendency to do things that weren't exactly considered 'nice,' this was completely unintentional. He was caught off-guard by her need to call him out on the ordeal and just stand there, but whether he wanted to believe it or not, he was the one who had done wrong here.

"We have two classes together," She countered, her voice steady as she eyed him accusingly. About a month into the new semester, Jake had no excuse as to why he didn't know this and she did. Still, he gave a slight nod as he looked over her head with ease, his height coming to his advantage while he looked over the crowds of students filing to class. He was at a loss for words, not sure if he should apologize. The only thing he knew was that if Imogen kept staring at him like this, he'd spontaneously combust under the pressure of the terrible situation.

Momentarily, he scolded himself for being able to be so melodramatic within his thoughts. But when the girl finally rolled her eyes and turned on the heel of her combat boots, she walked down the hall, clutching her pink notebook against her chest. Jake watched for a moment, his eyes taking in the back of her thighs. Her khaki uniform skirt was worn high-waisted and the knee-high white socks she sore with her combat boots allowed him to take in the bare skin of her thighs. As uncomfortable as she made him feel, she made up for it with her long, lean legs. He sighed, feeling like the ultimate asshole. Jogging up to her, he gave her a smile as they made a turn to get to class, "So that quiz."

**Imogen Moreno** had really had enough of boys treating her like dirt. As she stared up at Jake Martin, her eyes studying his features, she couldn't have cared any less how uncomfortable her steady gaze was making him. They had spent a month in both English and Algebra II together but apparently, she didn't matter enough to be noticed. When was she ever noticed? The girl had spent two years at Degrassi and people in red polos were still asking for her name. She felt herself scoffing as she turned on her heel away from him, his eyes obviously interested in anything but her - unless it came to her uncovered legs. Not even an apology had come from the boy and she really wasn't sure she'd care if he gave one.

From day one, Jake had made quite the mark on the ladies of Degrassi and none were immune to his stupid half smile or the way he deep voice managed to get lower as he spoke quietly to just one girl. Imogen, on the other hand, had found his mask of popularity and 'suave manners' to be rather disgusting. She questioned the sanity of any girl who didn't see his real intention. Then again, maybe they were just doped up on the idea that he might stick to just them if he got to know them. She knew the feeling of that undying hope.

She wasn't able to linger on the thought though, the sound of sneakers on the hallway tiles saving her from herself. She looked up to see Jake himself giving her a fake smile. She knew them when she saw them; the smile failed to reach his golden speckled green eyes. She glanced up at him quizzically though, unsure of why he was even walking beside her. His next couple words explained himself clearly, "So that quiz."

His thought trailed off as they entered the classroom, the bell ringing above them right on cue. Miss Dawes was still writing her lesson upon the whiteboard and as Imogen took her seat in the last row, right behind Prince Charming himself, he turned around in his seat, giving her that stupid false grin. She stared blankly at him, her hands cupping her cheeks as her elbows rested themselves on the wooden desk. Kids around them chatted mindlessly, most likely about the chapters of the book, all attempting to gather information from one another before the papers were passed out and the room was pulled into a silence.

"So tell me, Imogen, what was your favorite part of the reading?" Jake asked ever so slyly, his arms crossing his chair. Obviously this was his way of attempting to grasp onto any bit of knowledge of the classic piece of literature - someone hadn't done the reading. But Imogen actually loved the book - and that was a shock, as the girl usually found classics to drone on with boring details. Hester Prynne, the heroin, was someone she thought a lot of girls at Degrassi could take from though. She made a few mistakes, but stood by them and never regretted a single moment. She was bold, protective, strong and fearless. But these were statements she kept to herself as she emotionlessly blinked at the boy in front of her.

In a swift movement, she leaned back in her chair, her arms folding over her chest. She glanced down at her notebook, a small smile placing itself on her face, "Well, I enjoyed the part where the flirtatious and demeaning womanizer is burned at the stake for his adultery and less classy Casanova ways." She really didn't care much for Jake's opinion, especially not of her, so the light sneer on his lips that had appeared didn't faze her in the least.

Leaning forward, he pulled the book from his messenger bag and placed it face down on Imogen's desk. She looked at it as he pointed the description, her eyes falling on the words 'cowardly lover and her aging, vengeful husband.' She smirked; Jake Martin was a lot smarter than he seemed. And he confirmed it as he scoffed sarcastically, "I'm sure on of these two men are definitely considered their own kind of womanizer."

Miss Dawes began talking over the strong buzz of a million conversations going at once and Imogen looked up at Jake, her half smile never faltering in the least. "Guess you won't know until after you fail the quiz."

Taking his book back with a worried frown and still a bit of anger evidence in the way he furrowed his brow, Jake turned around, placing the book back into his bag as he sneered softly, "You're despicable."

Papers were being passed back down the rows and as Jake handed Imogen her quiz, she made eye contact with him, raising an eyebrow as she countered his less than swoon worthy comment to her, "And you're just bothered that there's someone who doesn't find you to be as great as you hold yourself up to be." With that, the room went to a complete dull silence. Jake didn't respond, but as both students were able to take a glance at what they'd be graded on, the boy sunk in his seat while Imogen allowed her smug smile to showcase while the answers came with ease.


	2. Chapter 2

[_**A/N: **_My apologies for getting this out a little late. I'd also like to give another apology for spelling mistakes and grammatical errors within the last chapter and this chapter. I was in a rush to get this out to you guys because I'm so thankful people are actually interested in my story, even if it does involve a crackship. You're all lovely, thank you so much! Lyrics are from Elton John's classic 'Tiny Dancer.']

_"Hold me closer, Tiny Dancer.  
><em>_Count the headlights on the highway.  
><em>_Lay me down in sheets of linen.  
><em>_You had a busy day today."_

**Imogen Moreno** was never a fan of Friday nights.

Friday nights meant madness. It meant hearing her mom rant on about how her dad was working late yet again. It meant feeling the weight of Monday already on her shoulders. It was a reminder of how alone she was, watching her classmates make plans as she made her way down the front steps of Degrassi. They all had wide smiles on their faces as they picked - movies or mall? Concert or road trip? Sleepover or house party? They had options. And with one last excited laugh, they'd remind their fellow friend to contact them just before the plans began. Imogen didn't have that.

Every Friday, she'd walk home from school, humming a familiar tune until she got to her front porch. Her mom wouldn't be home from a day of grocery shopping or an afternoon outing with a friend. Freely, she'd step inside, be greeted by her black cat, Jinx, before climbing up the stairs, going back to the humming. She seemed so ordinary, so painfully boring.

But Friday nights had one shining light - literally.

Her eyes opened to a silhouette audience as the spotlight hit her eyes harshly but adjusted quickly. The classical music started out as a soft hum and almost immediately, her body began responding less to her conscious mind and more to the C-Major scale. Her feet took no control; she was now en pointe, her hair in a strict bun, her eyes open and a smile on her face as her arms spread wide for the opening moves. The smell of caffeine was all around, but she was barely fazed by a single thing at this point. Her body has slipped away from her as her mind was emptied of any worry or negative thought.

That was what she loved about dancing. It was a few minutes of a rehearsed routine to some people. But to her, it was a few minutes of silence. She could be moving about while living in peace; these types of moments where she was actually awake but content came rarely. She praised dancing. Every time her body slipped into movements she had practiced before, she lost herself. It reminded her of how small she was. Imogen was always admiring things that made her realize her problems were only a mark on the surface of a 'grand scheme.'

There wasn't a care in the world as her routine went on, the classical music filled the room, and the audience watched in comfortable silence. She was the star with an honest show. All eyes were on her and she was giving them a genuine smile. She had their attention - all whilst remaining exactly who she was. Imogen Moreno, just a girl who couldn't seem to find her place offstage.

One last plie, she stuck the landing and her arms moved gracefully above her as her legs overlapped and her body stretched its length, the last chord of the song being strung out. A moment of dead silence, a spotlight went out and the crowd began cheering, clapping, all per usual. Every light in the coffee shop holding an 'Open Entertainment Friday Night' turned on and Imogen managed to take a bow. Still high off the buzz of happiness, she slipped off the stage with a smile, moving towards the table in the back where her dance bag was held underneath her jacket.

She was just passing by the front door, ready to change and enjoy the rest of the performances when a voice caught her completely unsuspecting - a voice her ears had become too accustomed to. "I knew it was you."

Her eyes swung from her personal items to those golden speckled green eyes. Her entire body froze as he rose his eyebrows, his hands in his pockets as he took a few steps towards her. What was Jake Martin doing at this coffee shop of all places on a Friday? And more importantly, why was he conversing with her? He had spent the past week shooting her death glares. Her favorite was the one she got after they got their quizzes passed back and his sported a big, red F and a sarcastic note from Dawes.

"What are you doing here, Martin?" Imogen snapped, her shocked exterior not helping her attitude. Her coffee shop was a place she chose to escape from Degrassi, not to be faced with it. Usually the kids at her school were out doing reckless activities. Not many spent their Friday nights at coffee shops and the ones who did kept to ones that weren't theater-themed. The Masked Cafe had posters from Phantom of the Opera to Footloose all around the walls and every mug had a printed Comedy Tragedy Mask on the porcelain. The owner was a lover of performing arts - maybe that's why he hosted the Entertainment Nights. Either way, it was practically Degrassi student-proof. Yet here she was, face to face with the last person she expected.

"Got caught under a heavy storm," Jake shrugged, as if Imogen wasn't staring at the remaining droplets of rain that cascaded down his neck, soaking within the stitching of the collar of his shirt. He looked down at her, taking her in, in her entirety, a soft grin coming to his lips. His hand slipped out of his pocket and he tugged gently and unthreateningly at the bottom of her black leotard dress. "What are you doing in that?"

Imogen slapped his hand away quickly, a deep pink appearing on her cheeks as the lights turned off above them, the next act appearing on the stage. The audience fell silent and Imogen knew Jake was still waiting on his answer. She huffed, taking his hand without a single thought and moving towards her stuff. He didn't seem the least bit fazed but retracted his hand after a moment. She didn't think much of it though, focusing on her stuff before heading towards the actual coffee shop where the bored barista leaned against the counter, waiting for people who wanted refills. Opening the door that separated the two rooms, she slipped through, knowing Jake was right on her heels and when they arrived at the familiar worn down blue couch she usually sat on, she dropped her stuff, turning around and narrowing her eyes at the boy.

"You still haven't answered my question," He said in a low voice, smirking down at her.

She scoffed. As if he hadn't seen her on stage. She was embarrassed, to say the least. Dancing was something she liked to do within the privacy of strangers who didn't know her name. She liked being carefree but in solidarity, without people knowing her business. Jake, on the other hand, was sadly neither a stranger, nor was he oblivious to the problems in her life. As a matter of fact, he had once been tangled within the same mess she'd been in; false hope and unrequited feelings.

"If you speak a single word of this at school, I will make sure orienteering club's event in the gym next week is pushed aside by Drama club," Imogen sneered. She didn't actually mean that. Actually, she had pushed Degrassi theater aside after the whole fiasco earlier that year. She just didn't have any other empty threats to dangle above Jake's head. He had probably caught onto this, because with a slight eye roll and never even a small falter of that half smile, Jake pulled his hands from his pockets, running them through his wet hair. He moved around Imogen, sitting down on the couch as the girl turned again to face him.

"Darn. And I was so excited to see the different types of compasses the president of the club was going to bring," Jake snipped sarcastically, looking up at Imogen as he rested his body against the armrest. His eyes remained calm as he crossed his arms over his chest. He was having fun with this, watching her fidget under the pressures of being found out, untangling at the seams before him. He was still a mystery while she was giving away precious clues.

Imogen rolled her eyes, not wanting to play the game anymore. She went to her bag, grabbing her wallet and left Jake on the couch as she walked towards the counter. She wasn't going to let him ruin her peaceful Friday night. The first step to getting past Jake Martin in the Mask Cafe was getting her usual coffee before she could grab the Scarlet Letter and read on, forgetting about the devious boys beside her and she had every intention of doing just that.

_"Ballerina, you must have seen her dancing in the sand.  
><em>_Now she's in me, always with me;  
><em>_Tiny Dancer, in my hand."_

**Jake Martin** loved Friday nights.

Friday nights meant slipping away from the pressures of school. He didn't have to worry about what was assigned, what was due, what he had to study for. All he had to focus on what was he wanted to do; he drown himself in the shallow desires of what ever high school teenager was interested in on Friday nights - companionship. Drew Torres had invited him to a house party, a few friends from orienteering club had extended an invitation to a movie night and the extras from 'Love Roulette' were wondering if he'd be interested in a small show for an underground band. Jake had options, but he didn't get the privilege of choosing. A text from his dad had done the decision making for him.

'There's a storm coming in and we forgot to put something over the hole in the roof. Need you home ASAP.'

Was it really his fault that his father had decided their new home's rooftop needed new tiling in the middle of May? It didn't matter anyhow. Either way, he was expected to bring home a tarp from the local hardware store, preferably the biggest size held so that his dad could use it again for his bigger construction projects. Jake was forced to cancel on Drew, the orienteer clubbers and the extras all at once and each one of them said the same thing. "Bummer, dude. Hit up my phone if your schedule clears afterwards."

And Jake honestly did have every intention of getting the tarp, placing it down on the roof and heading out. The small voice in the back of his head nagged, 'What teenager spends their Friday night doing house chores?' And of course, Jake was always one to listen to his superficial side if it seemed logical in the moment. But of course, his superficial mind always forgot the important details; like, for example, asking his dad for directions to the hardware store. He didn't know the streets of Toronto as well as the regular licensed teen in the city. But when time was put on the line, Jake didn't seem to care.

Which was probably why he was now sitting in his car as a torrential downpour made its way through Toronto, the clock turning to eight, his phone without service as he stared at the building of what seemed to be a crowded coffee shop, 'The Mask Cafe.' He shoulders slumped; when he got home, he was going to be in a lot of trouble. But in the moment, he was tarp-less, hungry and not too sure of where he was. The seemingly theater-themed coffee shop seemed like his safest bet.

But it wasn't just his safest bet, it actually held an interesting surprise. And as Imogen sauntered over to the counter, Jake couldn't wipe the grin off his face. His eyes watched as she moved freely in her small little leotard dress, the material showing off her every curve, her legs in soft nylons as her ballet flats moved noiselessly against the tiled floor. Without her glasses, a touch of weird jewelry, even her combat boots and awkward hairstyles, Jake could honestly say Imogen looked rather normal - appealing even.

Shaking the thought from his head and getting up from the overused couch, he came up behind her, allowing her to finish her order for some soy, extra-caffeinated drink before butting in. "And a regular, black coffee for me," He added on, pulling his wallet from his jacket's pocket. Imogen looked over her shoulder at him and he noticed how close she really was. He also seemed to notice how soft her skin looked, the smooth complexion and light curve of her small nose and pretty lips. He managed to pull his eyes away though, paying for their beverages over Imogen's shoulder.

Imogen narrowed her eyes at him, turning her body to face his as the barista began their cups of coffee. Chest to chest, Jake merely stared down at her, his eyes looking strongly disinterested but remaining exactly where he was as she placed her arms over her chest. She didn't seem at all fazed by his mellow surface though. "What are you doing?"

"Being a gentleman," Jake countered quickly, brushing the question off his shoulder. He knew she wasn't looking for obvious answer so why hand her one? He moved from the girl and walked down to the other end of the counter, waiting for his drink but Imogen didn't give up - and it wasn't like he was really expecting her to.

"Why are you being a gentleman?" Imogen asked as she moved to stand in front of him again. Jake slipped his hands back into his pockets, looking over the girl's head and watched the barista's hands move to make the drinks. Relentlessly, Imogen stood in front of him, though, gazing up at him and expecting her answer. And really, Jake didn't have one. Why was he being a gentleman? A voice in the back of his head nagged that it was because he had seen this entire new side of her that had him captivated. Seeing her move so freely on the stage, without the rumors about her buzzing around in the background like at school, had somewhat taken a toll on him. His opinion of Imogen had changed; at least in this building. He wasn't sure how he'd feel once they were back in English, but currently, he was curious. Not that he'd tell her.

"Because, unlike you, I was taught manners. Didn't your parents ever tell you that staring and interrogating are frowned down upon when making new friends?" Jake questioned, his eyes still not meeting hers. The barista finished making their drinks and set them down on the counter, giving a forced, polite smile to the bickering customers before turning back to the register. The boy mouthed a small 'thank you' before grabbing the mug filled with his black coffee. Turning around, he ignored whatever the girl had on the tip of her tongue, moving back to the couch as he blew on the hot beverage, the warm mug already gnawing away at his cold hands.

As Jake sat down on the blue loveseat and took a small sip of his coffee, he saw Imogen walking up to him with a lucid look and her small hands holding her own Comedy Tragedy mask-dawning mug. She sneered a bit when she was finally close enough for Jake to listen without an escape, "I guess it slipped my parents' mind. Just like your parents managed to forget to teach you that smug attitudes and big egos aren't the least bit attractive either."

A small groan and a roll of the eyes managed to break through Jake's aloof exterior. Here was part two of the stupid line Imogen had snapped at him in English, just before the Scarlet Letter quiz. Those words had eaten away at him all week and just when he was beginning to find some piece and the upper hand between him and this girl, she managed to push him back down. Setting his mug down as Imogen found her spot beside him on the couch, he turned to her, shaking his head, "Okay, obviously you hold some kind of resentment towards me and I have no idea what for. So why don't you just let out all your feelings to clear the air? I'm kind of tired of hearing what a terrible person I am from someone who knows nothing about me."

"I never said you were a terrible person," Imogen scoffed, her eyes boring into Jake. He didn't respond though, just allowed himself to get comfortable, waiting for the words to fall from the girls' mouth. He watched her as she stared back at him, obviously under the impression that she'd be able to read into his body language. But Jake was leading a single thing on. He just sat there, arms crossed over his chest again as he waited. And finally, the girl broke under the pressure of the silent coffee shop, setting down her mug as she huffed. "Like you don't know! You walk around Degrassi like you're a prince who could put any girl under a spell. You think you're just better than everyone else and it shows in your stupid half smile and bored expression. Honestly, could you be anymore pretentious?"

Better than others? Pretentious? Stupid half smile? A light sneer was playing on Jake's lips. He thought Imogen's opinion would show underlying emotions of admiration for him. He had the idea that this was her cliché way of suppressing her feelings; boy and girl meet, girl puts boy in place, boy and girl work out in the end. But the more she spoke, the more he just heard disgust and shame. Usually, he wasn't one to even care about what people said of him. People liked to talk and he could deal. But the more Imogen went on, the more he found himself unable to not care until finally, he found himself looking for revenge.

"Maybe I come off that way to you because I actually have people who want to get to know me. I've spent a month at Degrassi and I've managed to make friends, people who like my company. That's more than I can say for you. You walk around the hallways like you don't care that you're being ignored and talked about, but I can tell you do. Maybe if you weren't so weird and rude, people would actually want to befriend you." Immediately after Jake let the last word slip from his mouth, the tension in his body escaping through his bitter tone, he regretted it. He though briefly that his words would be justified after Imogen's small rant, but he realized as soon as the hurt expression appeared on her face that he had asked for her opinion of him. He was just the asshole who couldn't handle a little criticism.

In a flash, the girl in the leotard dress got up, setting her mug down and gathering her stuff. Jake could idly hear himself saying her name, apologizing awkwardly as he stumbled over his words, but she didn't acknowledge him. She kept her head low, slipping on an oversized jacket before grabbing her dance bag and rushing out into the darkness of the performance room. He had gotten up in an attempt to run after her, but he stopped himself the moment the performance room's door came to a close. Why did it matter? If Imogen was the girl who got under his skin, he should be glad she was no longer going to be around to bother him.

Sitting back down, he stared at the two barely touched coffee mugs, his mind racing to compensate for his rude behavior. She had been asking for it, right? And this way, he could go on without the worry of one girl's words haunting him. It had never happened before; he never allowed anyone's assumption of him to really get to him. Still, no matter what he said to himself, the guilt was taking over and he found himself sitting in that coffee shop, wishing that the cold, careless front he put on wasn't all a show. Maybe that way he'd also stop allowing one meaningless girl's opinion of him nag away at his conscience already. Either way, as the audience erupted in a fit of claps, Jake was only sure of one thing.

Imogen Moreno seemed to have a hold on him and he really wasn't sure why.


	3. Chapter 3

_[__**A/N: **__Well aren't I a pocket full of sunshine? Please note the sarcasm. I'm fully aware this came out two months too late. But I'm proud to say that Jimogen actually has a following now! And the storyline I've created in my head for the crackship continues to get more detailed and better perfected, so I came back to this. It's a poorly written chapter, but it finally puts these two in a place where I can work with them. I hope you all enjoy! And if you haven't already, go read __**Lady Azura**__'s Jimogen one-shot, _'Challenge.' _It's wonderful!]_

**Jake Martin **was two similes away from dozing off in English class. Throughout the hour long period, Miss Dawes droned on and on about The Scarlet Letter, a book he still hadn't taken upon himself to read. Although most Mondays were never on his side, this particular weekday seemed like one from hell. It didn't help that his weekend hadn't been up to par. He'd gotten home from the coffee shop, emotionally drained, to find his father red-faced with anger and three tall buckets filled to the brim with rain water. The lack of tarp didn't help the situation. In the end, Jake was forced to a weekend of construction with his dad and when it came time to go to bed for the weekday on Sunday, Jake found his sore body slowly melting into the mattress as his eyes closed, only to be startled awake by the memories of Friday night and Imogen's hurt expression etched into his head. He hadn't gotten any sleep, in the end. And though he had the opportunity to rest up now, he could feel the daggers being glared into the back of his head - not that he expected anything less.

"And that concludes your last reading section. Your next twenty reading pages are due tomorrow," Miss Dawes finished her lecture. The rustle of papers and shutting binders caused Jake to sit up and take in a deep breath of air, his hand running over his face. Students began chatting amongst themselves, but as the boy's eyes wandered towards the clock above the whiteboard, he noticed they still had twenty minutes of class. He frowned.

"To see that you all are not only reading, but actually comprehending Hawthorne's piece, I've taken it upon myself to assign a pair project," Dawes began again. Jake noticed the white papers in her hand as she began passing them down row by row. Of course, high school students were always on their feet about projects that were assigned in two's. The chattering didn't stop, only heightened as people reassured their friends that they'd gladly work with them for an equal grade. A few people called out to Jake, but he merely ignored them, taking the papers from the kid in front of him. As he looked over his own sheet, he let his hand fall backwards to the girl behind him, offering her the handout as well. The paper was snatched immediately, waking Jake up completely.

'_I wonder if she's still mad at me,' _He thought sarcastically to himself as his eyes continued to run over the page. It was a two part project, an essay portion with a prompt Jake could barely understand and more creative part in which Dawes listed options – to recreate a scene and record it, to make a poster board and present it, or to make some kind of visual aid. Jake sneered. He never understood why teachers thought they were being so generous when they added on the 'art' factor of a project. It was always unnecessary and took more time than the written portion of the assignment.

"I want an outline of your ideas by tomorrow. Rough drafts will be due Friday of your essays. And the project is due the following Monday," Their teacher spoke before turning towards her desk. It was clear that the class was to plan accordingly with their partners for the last fifteen minutes of class. Again, Jake heard his name a few times, but he shook them off. If he knew one thing for sure, it was that after class, a certain girl would be going up to Dawes and asking a simple question. _'May I work alone?'_

Turning around in his desk, Jake's eyes fell instantly on Imogen's. With her paper tucked into her notebook, she probably already had an idea on what to write, what to make and it'd probably be finished way before Monday. As a disgusted expression spread out on the girl's face, Jake began to wonder if her forgiveness was even worth it. Drama seemed right up her alley and this could just spark the match to the fire. He quickly remembered his seemingly sleepless nights though and cleared his throat.

"Let's be partners, Moreno," Jake stated nonchalantly. It was the first words he had spoken to her since Friday. They had seen each other in the morning, passing by in the same hallway and he even held the classroom door open for her. But she ignored him both times and Jake was almost sure each time she passed by him, a cold gust of wind blew his way – or maybe Degrassi was slowly getting to him. Melodramatic attitude seemed to be contagious here.

Imogen looked at the boy as if he had grown another head from his neck. He waited patiently though; he was determined to get something out of her other than glares and looks of utter hatred. He didn't think he deserved anything more, but he only hoped to prove Imogen otherwise.

She ignored him, as he expected. Her eyes fell down to the book in her lap; The Scarlet Letter was open to a page much farther than their reading that was due the next day. For a moment, Jake let the silence linger between them. He watched her long eyelashes fall against her cheek as she blinked, admired to himself as her dainty hand adjusted the crooked kitten ears on her head. If he stared long enough, the girl in the leotard and the long, loose, brown hair came back to him. All the mystery was just bonus points.

Clearing his throat, Jake decided to do the only thing he could at this point. If Imogen wasn't going to give him anything willingly, he'd surely pull it out of her. Looking towards the teacher, he raised his hand in the air, but didn't wait for her to glance over. "Excuse me, Miss Dawes, but Imogen and I would like to be partners."

The entire room became silent. Every judgmental student's eyes widened. Jake could practically hear their typical thoughts. _'The drama freak with the new kid?' _They sounded like a match made in heaven, but side by side, it was stereotypical chaos. Imogen with her sneer and fishnets and Jake in his plaid and smug smirk seemed like polar opposites. And they were. They were never meant to cross paths unless at war. Being partners for a project, though? Preposterous.

"No, no, we don't," Imogen interjected. Her voice seemed angry but also nervous, as if she was afraid of being left with Jake. This hurt him more than he thought possible, but he ignored it, allowing himself to submerge his ego into the success of getting her to speak.

"Oh, but we do," Jake claimed, waving her off. Miss Dawes raised an eyebrow; she was quick to catch onto these things. Maybe it was the fact that tension between Jake and Imogen had been high the entire period or maybe it was the way both teens refused to look at each other, both hopefully staring the teacher down. Either way, the elderly woman got up and looked around. Everyone's eyes were on her. Would she allow the social chaos? Would she be considerate to Imogen's pleads against it? Sighing, the teacher took her glasses off as she always did when she made big decisions.

"Imogen, I think you do need to open doors for people. You can't always work by yourself. Completing a project with Jake will be good for you; you'll see life from a new perspective," Miss Dawes suggested, giving a hopeful smile towards the student. If Jake had turned around, he would have noticed the deep frown on the girl's face. But as the bell rang, he merely allowed the turning moment to linger in the air as everyone gathered their things to get to their next class.

**Imogen Moreno **was furious. The last thing she wanted to do was be forced to spend even more time with Jake Martin. Her weekend had been draining. Rushing through the rain and taking the city bus back to her house, she stampeded up the stairs. Her mother called after her, probably surprised the girl was home so early, but Imogen merely ignored her. She slipped into her bedroom and hid herself under the covers. She hated to admit it, but everything Jake had said hit home hard. It was those words, those opinions, those ideas of her that kept her so on edge. But the worst part? Everything he had stated merely brought back the self-loathing she was still dealing with after listening to a certain boy she liked so much tell her she was _nothing. _She always figured if she were more like Clare Edwards, she'd have it all. She'd have the friends, the flawless reputation, the boys. Deep down, she wanted all that; loneliness was tiring. But these were things she refused to share. She'd stay behind her pigtails and combat boots until high school was over; they remained a part of her, a part she wasn't willing to give up.

As she stalked out of the classroom, Imogen kept her notebooks close to her chest. The words of her English teacher echoed in her head. _'Life from a new perspective.' _They were simply doing an English project together. If anything, he'd sit there and pick her apart while giving mediocre commentary on the book. She'd be forced to endure more uncalled-for criticism from a plain boy from the woods and do the work by her lonesome. It was a lose-lose on her side. And anyway, she didn't need to see life from a new perspective. Her own take on it was perfectly fine. She saw things in bright neon colors and pastels, while Jake saw things in black and white. She'd be taking steps backwards, being forced to spend time with a boy like him, not forward.

Gaining on her locker, she was just about to turn the corner when she heard heavy footsteps and felt a hand on her shoulder.

"You know, it doesn't have to be that bad," A deep voice said from above her. Imogen flinched away from his touch, spinning around to glare at him. Jake Martin stood there, a lifeless expression on his face as she scoffed.

"It doesn't have to be that bad? You say that as if I'm the one who's making it unbearable." The girl was obviously offended. It seemed as if Jake never had the right words to keep her at bay. He was a boy who didn't choose his speeches carefully; thinking of things in the simplest ways, he didn't dig much into intuition or emotion. What he saw was what he got and he ran with it.

"Well, you are the one who refuses to look me in the eye and have a civil conversation with me," Jake countered, giving a light shrug as he pushed the sleeves of his over-jacket higher on his forearms. Obviously, to someone like Imogen, this was blasphemy. Didn't she have a right to be mad? He had asked her what she thought of him and Imogen took it upon herself to share accordingly. She had never asked for his thoughts. And if she had some warning of how harsh he'd be, she definitely would have stopped herself from even starting the whole thing. She felt like it was Eli Goldsworthy all over again; that was the last thing she needed.

"You're ridiculous," She stated, turning on her heel. Rounding the corner, she wanted to get as far away from Jake Martin as possible. She would gladly take an F. English came easy to her; at the end of the semester, she'd probably still receive her well-deserved A with one zero. But, on the other hand, life didn't seem to agree with her that way.

He followed her, his long legs coming to his advantage.

"_I'm _ridiculous? I'm not the one who-" Jake began, but as they came to her locker, her eyes darted up at him. His mouth shut and he shook his head, something in him changing. His expression softened and he sighed. Apologies obviously didn't come easy for the boy in front of her, but the words he had held back somehow still stung.

Imogen suddenly wished her hair was down. Her eyes focused on the lock in front of her, but she wanted to hide behind a sheet of brown hair. She could feel Jake's steady gaze and longer it went, the more she wanted to disappear. He was beginning to make her feel small and she hated that feeling. She hated feeling like she meant nothing in the grand scheme of things; like if she didn't come to school, nobody would notice, nobody would care. She was struggling to remember the combination and each time she tugged to open the silver and black lock, it stayed closed. She tugged and tugged and tugged, hoping it would click free and finally, Jake put his hands over hers. She froze.

"I'm sorry, okay?" His deep voice muttered. She looked up at him behind her thick frames and waited for it. She waited for the 'but.' There was always a 'but.' _'But you're annoying. But you're weird. But you're too much for me.' _She waited, bracing herself. Yet nothing came. Just Jake giving her hand a soft squeeze as he continued to look at her. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I was completely out of line. And yes, you do deserve to be mad at me. But I'm trying to show you that the guy you described in the coffee shop? He doesn't exist. Jake Martin isn't who you think he is."

She refused to show how hurt she was and how scared she was that he could hurt her even farther. So putting on her mask of strength, she pointed her nose in the air as she countered him quickly, "So who is Jake Martin?"

A small smile appeared on Jake's face. She hadn't really accepted his apology but she wasn't outright shooting it down either. That had to mean something, right? He shrugged, running a hand through his caramel colored hair.

"You know, I'm still trying to figure out the details."


	4. Chapter 4

_[**A/N:** A month? That's not that bad. I'm picking up, aren't I? Well, Merry Christmas to you all. I hope this chapter was enough to suffice until the New Year. But who knows? Maybe Santa will come again, sooner than anticipated. I find myself oddly retracted to this story and I did enjoy writing this chapter; lots of hints and tidbits of what's to come. Thanks for reading and keeping up with me! I hope your Christmas is wonderful.]_

**Imogen Moreno** was tired. She was tired of her classes. She was tired of her work load. She was tired of the whispers in the hallways that she was forced to pretend not to hear, tired of the looks she continuously got that she was forced to ignore, tired of the teasing, the taunting, the words shot her way. Her life had become some kind of sick war and every day was a battle. Some days, she won. She successfully got through without feeling down on herself, without wanting to run into the bathroom and hide in a stall until she could breathe again. Other days, she lost. And today was one of those days that she'd severely lost.

It seemed no one wanted to give her a break. After her argument with Jake, the spiral down was long and harsh. She spent her next class pretending she couldn't hear the judgments a group of girls were making directly behind her. She kept asking herself, _'So what if they don't like my fishnets?'_ She kept reminding herself, _'I like my pigtails, so what does it matter if they don't?' _She kept repeating, _'I might not have any friends, but at least I'm content with myself.' _Then she'd wonder, _'If I have to console myself over who I am, does that really make me content with it?' _And the cycle would continue, until the class was dismissed and she was pushed back into the hallways of Degrassi.

Usually, her escape in the middle of the day was Drama class. As Miss Dawes enthusiastically proceeded on, lecturing a great deal over the works of Shakespeare versus modern day scripts, Imogen felt a little at peace. At least in the room of theatre, she was free to be as she pleased. But not even Drama was on Imogen's side the day of the lost battle. Eli Goldsworthy was someone Imogen wanted to ignore at all costs. After series of unfortunate events and a weak apology tied in with a promise to a coffee date he never went through with, it seemed the boy was just bad news. She remembered the days when she liked that about him; the misery in his eyes and the way he seemed to toy with her emotions was something she thought more of like a game than a reason to flee. Now she understood how painfully wrong she had been. Eli was once the only boy at Degrassi she deemed worthy of her time. Now she wanted nothing more than for his face to become a stranger's within the crowd. But he wouldn't allow it. Some days, she noted that his medication would render him unable to carry out any redeemable conversation, and he'd scamper away from the spotlight or most contact. But other days, he would thrust himself into it and force himself upon Imogen. She could tell he was still trying for her forgiveness. And the more he pushed, the closer Imogen fell to the brink. Those days were hard. Those days were just like today.

By the time the day had ended, Imogen was thankful to be greeted by her locker. She just wanted to grab her books and rush off campus. Something about Degrassi just didn't sit right with her. Probably because every corner held an unpleasant memory. But either way, the last bell had rung and she was nearly free. She had just put in her combination and was pondering on whether or not she wanted to bring her copy of the Scarlet Letter home when she heard someone call for her from behind.

"Hey, Moreno, look out!"

But it was too late. Just as she had turned around, she was greeted by a red dodgeball. Her small body hadn't been expecting it and the force put into the throw was so excessive, as the ball met her face, she was tossed back into the lockers behind her, the back of her head hitting the cold metal as the glasses on her face shattered and newly broken frames scratched just beneath her eye. She gasped at the collision, letting out a small whimper as the pain hit her all at once. But the tears were threatening to spill over the laughter that erupted from everyone around.

Owen Milligan jogged up to her, wide eyed but still chuckling. He leaned down, picking up the ball and gave a light shrug. His words were sarcastic, the look in his eye malicious as he smirked, "Whoops. My bad." With that, he turned to move back to his friends, all wearing blue and yellow colored tees, probably heading off to the gym for Dodgeball Club's practice. They were all laughing. Other students around her were laughing. But it was all a blur. Imogen's head was aching, a thin line of blood trickling down her cheek. She was usually fine without her glasses; she was near-sighted, after all. But with the bump that was forming on her skull and the tears threatening to spill, she couldn't seem to see a thing.

A hand caught hers in her desperate attempt to feel around the dirty hallway floor and instead of guiding her to the broken frames, it lifted her up. Behind her welling tears, Imogen couldn't see who was aiding her or potentially setting her up for another fall. But when she heard the deep voice, her paranoia was put to rest and she slipped into a familiar ease. "You're okay, c'mon. Dust it off. Don't let those jerks know it got to you."

Jake Martin slipped the broken frames into Imogen's hand, but it was hard to follow his words. She turned to her locker, pretending as if she was just going to go on and grab her books. But she could feel the tears spilling just as she avoided his gaze. Over a mixture of the pain and the horrible day she had, Imogen could feel the salty tears sting against her wound and fall down her cheek rapidly, soaking in with her collar. But she quickly brushed them away, grabbed the Scarlet Letter and slammed her locker shut. With her eyes on her combat boots, she held her books against her chest as she rushed down the hallway, towards the exit. She just needed to leave campus. Once she was on the streets of Toronto, she'd be safe.

But that wasn't so easy. Was anything as easy as she remembered with Jake Martin around? He called after her, moving towards her and drawing more attention to them. And normally, she'd pretend to relish in the fact that all eyes were cast on her. But without her glasses, with all the events of the day, she just wanted to slip into oblivion. She ignored the boy behind her and rushed down the steps of the school before he was able to catch up to her, his longer legs again coming to benefit.

His hand touched her shoulder but she immediately pulled away from his gentle grasp. She'd give him what he wanted, just at a distance. Her bloodshot brown eyes met his concerned green orbs, but the wall she had built was still standing tall and strong as she snapped, "What, Jake? What could you possibly want now?"

He seemed a little taken back, but he didn't let it linger for long. He explained himself, his voice warm and nonchalant as he reminded her, "Our rough draft is due tomorrow."

Of course it was. Imogen closed her eyes; how could she have forgotten? She had made plans to work with Jake on that rough draft at the Dot after school. It wouldn't take long; she had a series of ideas and she figured she'd be doing most of the work anyway. But that was before the battle of today was lost. She just wanted to go home. She just wanted to curl up with her cat in bed and sleep the rest of the day away. She was tired. She was sad. She was wounded. She couldn't handle being in a Degrassi student hot spot for another minute.

And Jake seemed to catch onto that. Taking her books from her grasp, when her eyes shot open, he was quick to make it clear that she was in safe hands. He took hold of her shaking, cold and much smaller hand and softly pulled her towards his red truck. "Let's go," he instructed. And maybe it was the way he sounded so sure, maybe it was the worry over the assignment at hand or maybe it was just that Jake had a quick getaway with his license and car. But no matter what the reason, Imogen found herself listening to Jake Martin, the boy she hadn't trusted at eight this morning, and slipping into the passenger side of the red vehicle.

**Jake Martin** was fine. He was always fine. School days went easy on him. The most he had to worry about was any academic twists and turns. A bad day usually entailed a Civics pop quiz and a lack of substantial food in the cafeteria. But those were easily brushed off. When it came to the other things that high school shot at teenagers, for the new kid from Muskoka, Jake was well off. Sure, he had drama. Clare Edwards had found her way into his life again and even after their break up, she still found it necessary to inform him that the bags under his eyes were easily preventable by the right amount of sleep. And yeah, it wasn't so easy to watch the girl who he'd been convinced had opened a pathway to the bullshit titled 'love' into his heart talk to her ex so freely. But beyond that, he was completely fine. He had friends. He had acquaintances. He walked through the hallways of Degrassi without much worry or care.

And that was why he didn't get what Imogen was going through. She had always seemed so strong, nose in the air as her combat boots made her footsteps sound harsh against the floors of their school. It seemed like she always knew what people were saying, but didn't care. Maybe the vulnerable side she was showing to Jake now was just an effect of the physical pain she'd gone through within the last five minutes on campus, but it was still a shock for the teenage boy to see. And though he wasn't so sure he understood what the girl was feeling, he found himself extending his hand to help and whisking her away from the school in a flash; an extended apology for hurting her the way the kids at school had as well. The cover up was laid out between them; their project had a rough draft due the very next day. But in reality, Jake just wanted to get Imogen away, as much as she wanted to get away, before she broke down in front of everyone.

So he did. And though it surprised him even further that she didn't fight against him, it wasn't long before he found himself in the kitchen of him and his dad's small, temporary home with Imogen standing timidly behind him. He was shuffling through drawers and cabinets, muttering, "Just wait, I know it's here. Mom used to keep it..." But he knew she didn't really care about what he was looking for. Her eyes meandered over the plain, brown furniture, the woodsy design being an extension of Muskoka within the tiny space. For the girl who studied human behavior and took in every little detail as something more, this was probably a gold mine.

Eventually, though, Jake interrupted her analyzing as he pulled a small first aid kit from underneath the sink and smiled at her, "Got it."

Her brow furrowed. It was a measly cut; she didn't think it needed any care. But when the boy patted the countertop, motioning for her to hop onto it, she sighed. If it kept him at bay, she was willing to play the role of the harmed patient. She pulled herself onto the counter and placed her hands in her lap as she watched him open the kit and rustle about within it. They sat in a busy silence, one that suggested upcoming conversation. But for now, Imogen was just glad he hadn't spoken a word about her minor breakdown.

"Alright. This might sting a little," he sighed as he soaked a cotton ball in rubbing alcohol. Imogen didn't bother bracing herself; the sting of rubbing alcohol never really bothered her. But as Jake softly dabbed at her cut, she flinched away from his touch, seizing slightly in pain. He frowned, "It's deeper than I thought, sorry."

"It's fine," Imogen muttered as Jake came a little closer, the cotton ball moving towards her cheek again. She avoided eye contact, but when the alcohol seeped into her cut again, she couldn't help but move away and look up at him with a frown. She felt like a child again, jerking her cut knee away from her mom in hopes the woman would eventually give up and let it scab without proper care. Jake had been in similar situations with his own mom and caught onto the parallel. He tried to make her feel a little better about it, smirking slightly as he slipped his free hand into hers.

"When it starts to hurt, squeeze my hand as hard as you can," he told her. She wasn't so sure. But she knew he just wanted to help for whatever reason, so she listened to him. And as the cotton ball brushed against her battle wound again, she found her fingers lacing with Jake's as she squeezed with all her might. Her eyes shut and her nose crinkled, but it wasn't long before Jake shifted slightly and threw the cotton ball away in the nearby trashcan. His voice was soft and he let his thumb run over the hand tangled in his as he let her know, "You're fine."

Imogen's eyes slowly reopened, but Jake wasn't looking at her any longer. He pulled back his hand as he lifted a bottle of Neosporin from the first aid kit. His mind wandered back to all the times he'd hurt himself within the woods at the cabin when he was younger, before his parents' divorce. His mother would see him limp in, tears in his eyes, and she'd pick him up and place him on the countertop. She'd sing a lullaby from his earlier childhood years, to keep him calm during the process. _'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.'_ Rubbing alcohol. _'You make me happy when skies are gray.'_ Neosporin. _'You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.'_ A Band-Aid. _'Please don't take my sunshine away.'_ A kiss on the cheek.

As Jake opened up the bottle of Neosporin and dabbed some on his finger, though, he was pulled out of the memories by Imogen's voice. His eyes met hers, his finger gently smearing the substance against her cut as she asked, "Why are you doing this?"

He didn't mean to stand there without a word. But she had caught him so off-guard. His mind was just pulling out of sweet memories while she stared him down, his hand slowly retracting back to his side. His lack of response was probably the reason that prompted her to speak up and fill in the gap. She glanced away from him as she explained, "I mean, just the other day, you were putting me down in a coffee shop. And now you're trying to clean up the injuries that other people who have the same thoughts about me that you do have made."

The words she spoke hit home. His eyes closed as he cringed a bit. If only he knew what had been going on behind this wall of hers, he wouldn't have ever let the moment get the best of him. He wouldn't have lost her trust, wouldn't have carelessly yelled at her. To be fair, the girl wasn't the easiest to deal with and that's probably how the other kids at school felt about her as well. But it was no excuse. He wasn't sure what else to say as his eyes moved to the first aid kit while he grumbled, "I apologized for that."

"Doesn't mean you don't still think it."

"You know, I really don't get it, Imogen," Jake finally broke, a little frustrated. Okay, yeah, he'd been an asshole and said some pretty mean things. But at the end of the day, that was the person Imogen was. With her quirky hair styles, her heavy boots, her odd behavior, that was the type of person she let Degrassi students see. But if she was tormented, if she constantly didn't feel so comfortable in her own skin, why did she continue on with it? "You seem so strong as you walk through the hallways in your tights and weird hair styles. But if you're not happy with it, why don't you change it?"

She seemed a little taken back herself this time, but Jake resorted back to feeling like an ass again when the tears welled up in her eyes. Why did he do that? Why did he constantly find himself hurting her feelings? He didn't mean to half the time. It seemed the girl couldn't take what she dished out. She was more sensitive than she lead on. But still, it caused Jake to listen to her words when she sniffled and wiped her eyes.

"Why is it my fault the kids at school can't take something a little different?"

"It's not," Jake sighed. He didn't mean for it to come off that way. He didn't mean to get so worked up. Imogen was hard to deal with though. The more he spoke in hopes to extend a helping hand, the more she seemed to take it as a threat against her. He could never find a happy medium; the right words were always beyond him. But he wasn't going to just give up. After all, he was going to be spending a lot of time with the girl within the next week, all due to his brilliant plan at a shot for forgiveness. "But if you're not happy, is it worth it?"

"I'm happy when I'm by myself. Isn't that what ultimately matters?"

Jake's eyes met Imogen's. She was no longer crying and it seemed the question wasn't a rhetorical one. But as Jake gazed at her, he found himself wondering the same thing. Did other peoples' ideas matter if you were content when you were on your own? Was all Imogen's pain worth it, to go through all the torment and cruel words and actions from others, just to stay her? It seemed like the lesson from all the movies he had watched as a kid were coming back to him. Of course. Of course she should be true to herself and not conform to what Degrassi students wanted from her. But as she glanced away and the glimmer of her cut caught underneath his kitchen lights, Jake wasn't so sure. Maybe it was because he hated seeing her in pain, maybe it was just doubt. But he didn't know if it was worth it. He didn't understand it, because he didn't have to deal with it.

He was still without an answer as he grabbed a Band-Aid from the kit. His voice was low and soft as he placed it against her cheek, "There. All patched up."

"Not even slightly. But thanks," She whispered in response, before hopping off the counter and moving towards her books. Jake's mind whirled around her words. There was even more to Imogen than met the eye, which was saying a lot. And if he had thought he was caught up in her before, there was no backing out now. But as he closed the first aid kit, he noticed her brush off the moment as she pulled a paper from her binder and said, "Now about this rough draft."


End file.
